Post Hoc
by ruth baulding
Summary: Less than a fortnight after the battle of Naboo: Yoda teaches, Obi Wan learns, and young Anakin is an astounded witness.
1. Chapter 1

**Post Hoc**

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><p><strong>1.<strong>

Coruscant had for all intents and purposes forgotten the natural cycle of night and day, dark and light, rest and activity. It was alight at all hours with myriad artificial constellations, abuzz at all hours with ceaseless business and traffic. Its citizens, its pedestrian plazas, its spaceports, its industrial sectors, its sprawling underlevel slums: all these had forgotten the ageless rhythms of nature, exchanged them for the perpetual insomniac bustle of technologically advanced society.

But the Jedi Temple had not forgotten. True, its occupants often enough kept late hours, or made their departures or arrivals in the middle of the night as need dictated, but the texture of life within the high white walls of this sanctuary was purposefully attuned to the forgotten cycles of the natural universe. At sunset, lights were dimmed and a relative hush was observed: study and meditation, and rest, dominated. Young initiates were in bed, their elders quit the Council chamber or the dojo in favor of the archives or the gardens or other private, introspective venues. Balance was all, was the key. Day was for action, evening and night for contemplation and rest.

For at least one, however, there was no rest.

Obi Wan Kenobi wandered the corridors of the vast Temple complex, traversing the labyrinth of halls and passages with the unconscious ease of one brought up within its confines from the earliest childhood. The night wore on, endlessly. This marked his third night without sleep – not an uncommon occurrence in the life of a Jedi, but one uncommon enough within the hallowed precincts of the Temple.

He had been home for seven days tomorrow morning.

He had been a Jedi Knight for ten days.

He had witnessed Qui Gon Jinn, brother and father, die only twelve days ago.

As though waiting for a lull in which to strike and catch its victim off guard, grief had bided its time, waiting in ambush until routine had gradually replaced the creative outpouring of energy that accompanied a new beginning. It waited. Twelve days. Ten days. Seven days. Three nights. And then it had launched its attack, waxing in power like a fever until it was sharper, deeper, more crushing even than its first brutal epiphany in Theed. As though it had fermented in the long days following the event, when there had been no time to engage it, to face it, to indulge it. It had returned headier and more potent; suppressed, it had festered and grown to obscene dimensions.

He had been taught to observe and analyze such emotions, to allow them to flow _through_ without allowing them to carry him away. To be detached, serene.

He only half succeeded. He could not allow the pain to utterly dominate and control him, though it rose like a black tide, a wall of drowning ache, cold and pitiless loss. He had duties, foremost among them the education of his highly unlikely new apprentice. Yet neither could he stand rock-firm and allow the waves of mourning to crash against his resolve and move past. He compromised, riding the crest of the storm, staying just ahead of his own sorrow. Not quite serene, but not quite submitting to temptation. Staying just ahead, outrunning despair by a sheer act of will.

Nights were worse. Sleep was elusive – impossible. Walking helped.

He had tried the Room of a Thoussand Fountains, but every burbling melody in the flowing water, every elegant dappling of light and dark foliage, every familiar twist of the path, was laden with unwelcome memory. He walked on to other places. To every place. To no place. Walking became a purpose in itself, a kata. The past and the uncertain future faded into the nebulous phantasms they were, until only the present moment remained. In that moment, there was fullness and peace.

And a strong, warm voice saying, _Keep your focus in the present moment, where it belongs._

So , ironically, there was no peace there after all. No escape.

Exhaustion was finally setting in. That could prove to be his ally. A new idea occurred to him, and he turned his steps toward the dojo. It would be empty now, in the small hours of the morning, and he could lose himself in , say, three hundred repetitions of the level four Ataru velocity. After that, he should be ready to drop in his tracks, into a dreamless and griefless sleep. He reached the entrance and eagerly slipped through the broad doors.

To his astonishment, Yoda was waiting within. The old one stood half-hunched over his cane, face scrunched into a fretwork of contemplative furrows and lines. His gold-flecked eyes were alight with a quiet, private amusement as they rested upon the newcomer. The ancient master remained unmoving, serenely accepting the deferential bow of greeting he was immediately offered.

"For saber practice, not the right time is it," he observed. "But too late is it, or too early?"

Obi Wan pressed his lips together. A riddle at this time of night? Or morning? It was just the sort of thing Qui Gon Jinn might have asked…and that realization made it impossible to speak.

"No answer have you?" The diminutive Jedi feigned surprise. "No clever words to impart to Yoda, after so much walking and thinking?" He shook his wrinkled skull, long ears bobbing. "Disappointed I am."

Master Yoda never asked an idle question and never finished a conversation without having the last word, so Obi Wan merely stood and waited. The barb would come, even if he had no heart to rise to the bait.

"Well?" the ancient one prodded. "Waiting you are, hm. For what?"

_For you to come around to the point, master._ "For your wisdom, master."

Yoda grunted and pursed his lips. "Three days looking you have been. Hm. So difficult to find, I think I am not."

"But you are always worth the wait." He wasn't about to fall into such an easy trap.

"Hmmmmm. Diplomatic you are. Politic." Yoda's eyes narrowed slightly as he went for the weak spot, the precise center of pain, like a predator lunging for the jugular. "Learn that from Qui Gon you did not."

He flinched. _Must I endure this?_ "No, master."

"Yes," the ancient Jedi mused, warming to the topic, "Better at holding your tongue are you. Better at looking ahead, too. These things from your own spirit come. But not such a master of feelings yet, hm? Need guidance there, you still do," he continued, casually, off-handedly, with the accuracy of an expert strike between the ribs.

_Please finish and leave me alone. "_Yes, master."

"See through you I can," the Grand Master warned. "Think you that came here I did to waste my time? To listen to your disrespect? I think not!" the gimer stick cracked against the polished floor as he took a step forward, huffing in affront – or the affectation of it.

_Oh, blast! _"Forgive me, master; I did not expect – I am not –"

"Came here to ask me something, you did. Meeting you here, I am, with open ears. Now speak." The words were testy, the tone of command clear and uncompromising.

Obi Wan stared. As a matter of fact, he had come here to perform grueling saber drills until he had wrung every ounce of strength, and therefore emotion, out of his weary limbs. Yoda had been the last person he anticipated meeting here. But he also knew that when the ancient Jedi spoke of purpose, he did not mean conscious choice but the will of the Force. For a Jedi, the latter more truly represented his own intentions than personal will. And so he accepted that, in true and deepest reality, he had come here to ask Yoda something. But what?

"Sit," the old one chuffed.

He sank down cross-legged to the floor, bringing himself almost to eye level with the small, revered teacher.

"Your pain I can feel," Yoda prompted, much more gently. "The loss of Qui Gon like an open wound, it is. The cause you know already." It was a statement, not a question.

Obi Wan bowed his head. He had just been _Knighted; _ it seemed terribly unfitting to confess to such a glaring weakness and failure now. But it was too late, and Yoda knew anyway. Suffering came from attachment. He had known that for decades, been taught it practically in infancy. Now he understood it in his very bones. "Yes, I do."

"To ask why, your question is not."

"No, master." He would not deny the reality of his grief, or even the attachment responsible for it, however misplaced, however forbidden, discouraged, unbecoming. He was not here to justify himself or to make excuses. He only wished to know…to ask…

"All night I do not have. Hmph. Busy they keep me, between the Council and the younglings. Now the time for asking is, Master Kenobi."

How strange the title sounded. But it also emboldened him. "Master, tell me how to defeat my grief." That is what he craved. He would meet his foe and vanquish it. He was done with endurance and acceptance. A Jedi was not _passive; _ some enemies could only be met head on. Like the Sith in Theed. And if he was destroyed in the process, so be it.

Yoda nodded, absurdly pleased. "Hmm. The right question is that. Very good."

"Is there an answer?" _Let there be an answer._

The ancient Jedi seemed to look far into the distance, past an invisible horizon. He snuffled quietly to himself for a moment before replying.

"An answer. Yes. An answer there is. Tonight meet me here again, you will, and show you the answer I shall."

"Thank you, master."

"Thank me not yet hm hm hm hm hm," Yoda chuckled darkly. "Some answers more difficult than others are."


	2. Chapter 2

**Post Hoc**

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><p><strong>2.<strong>

The next day passed in a blur. There was much to be done, much to show and teach the new Padawan, who had only come to this way of life a week ago, who had none of the ingrained habits and customs of the Temple culture, who had to unlearn so many mental and emotional habits of slavery. There were also more ordinary duties to be attended to, including unwanted but necessary ones. Obi Wan was obliged to spend a long afternoon in the archives, helping Jocasta Nu enter as much information as possible about the Sith assassin and the events in Theed into a new holocron. By the time evening meal was served in the refectory, he had no appetite and only the promise of the answer to come from Yoda tonight – and perhaps the incessant spirited chatter of Anakin – soothed his frayed nerves enough to preserve self control.

"…and astronavigation!" Anakin was saying. "That's a lot to learn, but I can do it. And Master Bondara says I can spar with you, too, master, that it might help me catch up with the others. You're the _best_ swordsman of all the Jedi, aren't you?"

"Hardly," he said repressively.

"Well, people seem to think so, since you killed that horrible assassin. They said you're awfully young to have bested a Sith. They say you're the only one –"

"Anakin. What is done is done. It does not matter to whom the credit is due, or who has accomplished what. And comparisons of skill or success are a dangerous distraction. They can lead to pride, or rivalry. Both paths to the Dark side."

"You don't have to be touchy about it."

"_Anakin."_

"Sorry."

They completed the simple meal in silence – primarily because Anakin, like any growing boy his age, was so busy stuffing himself that he hadn't a moment to speak. When they were done, the boy wrinkled his nose and scrunched up his mouth in thought. "Let me guess," he said. "There's never any dessert here."

"What makes you say that?"

"We haven't had any since I arrived. That's eight days."

"There seems to be some tonight." A sort of sweetcake had made its appearance, and the Padawan dashed off to help himself with the healthy enthusiasm of a child brought up without fine food. When he returned he had two helpings in hand.

"I brought you some too."

"No thanks."

"More for me," Anakin decided, eagerly starting in on the confection. "What's the occasion?"

"No occasion, no pattern. Sometimes there is something sweet. You enjoy it when it comes. You don't expect it, you don't miss it when it isn't there. Another lesson on the pleasant moments in life."

"Hm. Don't tell me: the flip side of that is that sometimes there's nothing but fava beans for dinner."

"They are sufficient for nutrition."

"And nasty tasting." The young boy polished off the second plate of sweetcake with evident relish and propped his chin between his hands. "I'm going back to study," he announced. "What are you doing tonight, master? Do you have to study, too?"

"All the time."

"Huh. Do you ever just…play? Or is that another distraction?"

_I do not think that I will ever play again._ "What you mean to ask is, will Anakin Skywalker ever be allowed to distract himself? And the answer is yes. Sometimes. I imagine you miss building machines and bits of machinery."

The Padawan nodded, eyes distant. "It helps me concentrate…it's hard to explain."

_So are you, Anakin, so are you._

"So…what are you learning about, master?

_I wish I knew. _ "It's hard to explain," he said aloud, lightly. "Tonight I am going to speak with Master Yoda about something. We can all learn from other Jedi. I can even learn from you. Now – off you go. We both have important matters to attend to. I'll see you in the morning. You can come with me and we can try that meditation exercise again."

"Yes, master." It almost sounded natural, habitual. They were settling in to a routine, to familiarity, even if they were both still play-acting a little. Or more than a little.

They parted ways in the concourse outside the dining hall, Anakin hurrying toward the wrong turbolift and then halting and redirecting his steps as he consulted his mental map. Obi Wan began a long meandering circuit of the lower levels which would bring him eventually to his appointed meeting place with Yoda. He walked slowly, conserving energy. Unless the ancient master had wisdom of startling power to impart, tonight would be the fourth without sleep, the fourth spent in solitary perambulation. An hour and a half later, after a sinuous route including every possible detour, he arrived at his intended destination.

As he entered the dojo through its broad arching doors, he suddenly sensed Anakin behind him. A swift backward glance revealed nothing: no sound of footsteps or breathing betrayed the boy's presence. That was good – the lessons of their first days together as teacher and pupil were well learned. But Anakin had mastered only physical stealth. His Force presence shone like a beacon, giving him dead away.

Obi Wan slipped to one side of the arch, within the small antechamber, and waited. A ten count later, the small blonde figure padded through the entrance, alert and prowling, listening for voices in the spacious practice room ahead. He approached the second doorway and peered into the shadows beyond.

Obi Wan materialized behind him, slipping one hand over the boy's mouth and pressing the pommel of his saber – Qui Gon's saber – against his Padawan's back, under the fourth rib and close to the vertebrae. Anakin startled and then slumped.

"I advise you, in the future, to keep the person you are tailing _ahead_ of you at all times," his master said softly. "Or the result could be disastrous." He added a significant amount of pressure to the saber's rounded pommel.

Anakin nodded, eyes wide.

Obi Wan released him and turned him about with a hand on his shoulder. The boy did not appear ashamed or cowed, but met his gaze evenly with only slightly colored cheeks.

"Anakin, you are free here. You are the owner of your own life and the author of your own decisions. But with that freedom comes the expectation that you will willingly honor the precepts and rules of the Temple. Among which is this: that you will not roam idly through the corridors at night when you ought to be in your quarters studying."

"Not idly," the boy protested, deflecting the conversation from its true intent. "I wanted to see what you were doing."

"Another of which," Obi Wan continued, undeterred, "Is that each of us will respect the other's privacy. My conversation with Master Yoda is my own affair, not yours."

"Yes, master," Aankin intoned miserably.

A little over a week together in the Temple had already revealed that Anakin's temperament, though sensitive and empathetic, was also incurably mercuric. The remorse and hurt feelings were genuine, but thy would not last long enough to truly dampen the boy's fierce spirit.

"I just thought…." The Padawan struggled to find words. Obi Wan waited patiently. How many times had Qui Gon shown him the same courtesy? "I thought maybe you wanted to talk to him…about _me_." The thoughts tumbled out in a rush, now that they had found an outlet. "I know you didn't choose me for your Padawan. All the other students are talking about it. I know you took me because Qui Gon made you promise. I know you agreed with the Council, and you thought it would be a bad thing for me to train as a Jedi. And you don't trust me, and you're not sure you can do this." Anakin's eyes shone, but his chin was up and defiant. "And that's why you want to talk to Yoda."

_Star's end. _ And he had thought that being apprenticed to Qui Gon Jinn had been challenging and disconcerting? This undertaking was utter madness, just as Mace Windu had said - not aloud, but with the formidable and uncompromising look in his dark eyes when it was first suggested to the Council that the strange boy from Tatooine be trained as a Jedi.

Obi Wan dropped to one knee. _Breathe. The Force._

"Another precept is that you and I owe each other absolute honesty," he said.

"…Yes?" Anakin braced himself for the crushing blow.

_Breathe. _He had begged Qui Gon to take him as his Padawan, in this same posture of humility. And now he begged his Padawan instead- he had much, much, much to learn. "And that is why I must confess to you that I was wrong. I was wrong, and selfish, and obstinate when I formed my forst opinion of you. I was wrong not to listen to my own master, and I was wrong to judge something that is far beyond my power to comprehend. I did promise Qui Gon, Anakin. But I also accept you as my student because that is the path I willingly choose, and I accept all the implications of that choice no matter how difficult. And I give you my trust now. Freely. Do you understand?"

A quick nod, wide-eyed and speechless. The boy could not possibly understand, but he was stunned by the unexpected answer, and that was nearly as good.

"You are right that I do not think I can do this," Obi Wan went on, deciding to keep his own counsel regarding absolute honesty, to set the example of trust, "But that does not mean anything. I have done many things I thought I could not."

"I…I believe you, Obi Wan. Master." The boy was grave now, fully comprehending not so much the words as the rarity of this occasion, the vulnerability laid open before him.

"And I will either see your training through to the end, or die trying. I promised you once. I give you my word again."

Anakin nodded again, and then against all protocol and expectation, he flung himself forward and embraced the older Jedi, a fierce and protective and trusting gesture. It was also, Obi Wan reflected, a bit breathtaking, but he did not reprimand his apprentice. Not this time. Anakin stepped back awkwardly, suddenly aware that this behavior might be considered unbecoming.

"So it's not about me," he concluded, frowning. Then he looked up and his gaze went straight through his companion, carried like a shaft of brilliant lightning through all mental defenses. "Oh," he said simply. "You loved Qui Gon. You feel like part of you is dead, too."

Obi Wan's sharp intake of breath warned him to stop.

"It's all right," Anakin said, as though soothing a wounded playmate. "I miss my mother that way. I don't know if I'll be able to go on either. I wish I knew how. That's what you're going to ask Master Yoda, isn't it?"

The young Knight stood. _Force help me. _ "I'm sorry, Anakin, but my conversation with Yoda is my own." He indicated the doorway with a short nod of his head. "Now scoot back where you belong."

The boy hesitated a fraction of a second longer, as though unsure whether to risk asking something more. Then he seemed to decide against it, and took his leave with purposeful and brisk step, apparently relieved of the burden which had weighed so heavily upon him. His slight figure had no sooner disappeared around the corner than it was replaced by an even smaller apparition – albeit one whose bright aura in the Force bore centuries of authority and bespoke a depth and complexity so far from childhood that it came nearly round again to a second spring.

"Hhhhmmmph," Yoda remarked. "Curious your Padawan is. Handled him well, you did."

"I have sent him on his way, master."

"Have you, eh?" The old one chuckled in his idiosyncratic, unpredictable way, and proceeded to enter the dojo proper, coming to a halt in the very center of the wide space reserved for saber practice. The room was empty but for the two of them; perhaps the ancient master had reserved it specially. A single maintenance droid floated from behind a supporting pillar at the edge of the chamber; Yoda made a terrible face at it, and it promptly veered off and disappeared from sight.

"Now," he announced, having put the bothersome automated help in its place, "An answer you crave. Have it, I do. But give it lightly, I will not. Perhaps to find your own way to this wisdom, easier it would be."

"I would rather you showed me the answer now, than follow the easy path," Obi Wan promptly responded.

Yoda snorted. "Know you not what is good for you. But show you I will. Difficult is the lesson. Ready are you?"

"Yes, master. I am certain."

Yoda shrugged, as though to say that he had given due warning and was not liable for the subsequent outcome. He very deliberately shed his cloak and folded it together with his stick. These he gently wafted through the air to the edge of the sparring area.

"Fetch for us two training sabers, then, if so certain you are."

A few moments later they stood in ready position, raining sabers ignited and casting a faint iridescence onto the floors and walls.

"To defeat your grief, you wish. To master pain. Simple, is this."

"What must I do, master?"

"Hit master Yoda!" the other exclaimed, flourishing his saber in a menacing whirl of light. The Force surged with a primal, unbidden ferocity. "Just one touch. Your answer will you have then. Wisdom will you gain."

Obi Wan smiled. "I am not _that_ foolish, master. I do not think I will be able to hit you."

"Exactly," his opponent beamed.

And he leapt forward in a blazing attack.


	3. Chapter 3

**Post Hoc**

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><p><strong>3.<strong>

From his hidden vantage point in the observation balcony, Anakin watched in amazement as his master sparred with the enigmatic and fearsome Yoda. He really had not thought that the short, dumpy green troll could truly wield a blade, not like a real Jedi. Now he saw that his perception had been erroneous. Compared to Yoda – it turned out – none of the other Jedi Anakin had watched practice with their sabers could even begin to be called warriors. Except maybe Master Obi Wan. And even he was outmatched. Master Yoda didn't even seem to touch the ground: he flew, spun, somersaulted, leapt – and all the while his little blade flashed and buzzed through the air, executing an impossibly fast and precise dance of light.

Anakin stared, wide-eyed, and watched Obi Wan defend himself from the onslaught with incredible skill, matching the feverish pace and moving in a fluid sphere to avoid blows that seemed to rain down on him from everywhere and nowhere. But it was not enough. Within minutes, Yoda had scored six separate, blazing hits: to his opponent's arm, shoulder, back, leg, left hand, and finally one that glanced along the other's cheek. The training sabers were set on low power, but Anakin already knew that their touch burned and left a vibrant, throbbing sting in its wake.

"Ow," he whispered, careful not to be seen over the tall railing. He was supposed to be on his way back to his quarters, after all.

The two duelists stepped apart and bowed.

"Surrender, do you?" the ancient Jedi asked.

Obi Wan shook his head, jaw set in lines of determination.

"Good," Yoda murmured. "Begin learning, you can. Attachment leads to suffering. Like many blows, many cuts, grief attacks. Stop the pain, can you? Strong enough to defeat it, are you? To escape further blows?"

"Master, I …" But there was no time for a thoughtful response. Yoda had already lunged forward into the next assault, and was more relentless than ever, seeking to drive under his adversary's guard, to strike many times, swiftly, like a gadfly, never ceasing and never stopping his motion. The battle became desperate. Anakin marveled at the way the room seemed to fill with power and intensity until the air crackled and shimmered with it. Both Jedi were calling on the Force, letting it fill them and guide their actions. But still Obi Wan fought a steadily losing battle, taking hit after hit from the merciless ancient master. Eventually he stumbled, and Yoda dove in for a sweeping strike, a cut that would easily have severed an opponent in two had the blades been at full power. Obi Wan flipped away barely in time, landing heavily and slightly off-balance. He held out a hand to Force-push the other Jedi away – and was immediately slammed down to the ground. Anakin could hear his grunt of pain as the breath left his lungs, and his saber clattered away over the floor.

Yoda had barely moved his hand, barely lifted one of his three thick, clawed fingers.

Anakin craned his neck to gain a better view. His master was rising, warily, wiping sweat form his face with a sleeve, watching the ancient Jedi standing serenely a few long paces away. He drew in a deep breath and then summoned his weapon back into his hand.

"I cannot stop you, master."

"No. The pain that misplaced attachment brings, this you cannot stop either, Obi Wan. Too late is it now."

"Then what am I to do, master?"

Anakin was intrigued to hear the note of helpless frustration which echoed in his own teacher's voice. He had already felt that same emotion himself, at several points during the last week. It was somehow reassuring to hear it in a much older, more experienced Jedi.

"Told you I did, already," Yoda huffed impatiently. "Hit master Yoda!"

"But I can barely defend myself. How can I make a counterattack when I am on the defensive - and losing, at that?"

"Not listening are you," the Grand Master snapped. "Your lesson this is – find the answer you must. No more talk." He soared through the air again, launching another blistering offensive.

Anakin watched in growing trepidation and confusion as the ferocious little warrior proceeded to give one of his favorite students a very sound thrashing.

* * *

><p>Obi Wan held on, stayed in the Force, letting it fill him and flow through him. He met the flashing blade that sought to burn him again and again, that <em>did <em>burn him again and again, putting every ounce of skill he possessed into this contest, just as he had poured his whole resolve into battling grief. He was reminded, vividly – terribly – of the battle in Theed, of the same desperate struggle, the same clash of infinities; only this time it wasn't the Dark he sought to vanquish. He felt as though he were fighting against the Force itself.

_I simply cannot do it – I cannot stop his attack. _ He couldn't stop Yoda, he couldn't stop his grief, he couldn't stop the Force, not when it was the light that wove the cells of his body together, the luminous thread on which his every thought and feeling hung suspended like glittering dewdrops.

Besides, at this point in the contest, everything hurt. He was so bruised and burned from Yoda's tormenting and pitiless strikes that he was dreading the moment when the battle ended, when the intensity of the Force lessened and his adrenaline subsided – when he would truly feel the damage the ruthless old master had inflicted.

_I cannot win a battle against the Force; I cannot change the nature of the universe; I cannot undo the consequences of attachment; but there is an answer. He said so himself._

"Still not trying, are you," Yoda snorted, driving in under his last exhausted parry and slashing another long burning line across his ribs.

Panting, he strove to reply, and then gave it up.

_But there is no try…what in the blazes does he want me to do?_

"Hit master Yoda!" the old troll taunted.

Something snapped inside him. And he abruptly changed tactics, abandoning all pretense at self defense. Let Yoda beat him to a pulp if need be, but he would not fail in that one goal, He was going to hit the old master, fair and square, hard and true. Drawing on the dregs of his strength, determined to expend it all in one last action, focusing all his skill and resolve onto the single objective as though it were the consummation of his every duty and promise, he forgot every defensive movement and drove foreard, saber blazing and cutting, seeking only to land that single hit.

Yoda swatted him away like a flea and redoubled his punishing offensive. ObI Wan stepped into it, no longer rising the cresting wave, no longer outrunning defeat but facing it head on. The black wave rose over his head, consumed him, pounded him into nothingness. He ignored the flurry of stabs and burns and stings, and sought his opening, his one flicker of hope. He blocked out the screaming physical instinct to flee and centered, with a reckless calm, on his one purpose.

"Good! Good!" Yoda cackled, and aimed a blow straight at the side of his head.

The choice hung suspended, timeless, between them. He could parry that blow – or he could use the split second to come under Yoda's blade and score a glancing hit.

He swept forward and struck the ancient master squarely on the left shoulder. And then he saw stars as the master's blade slammed mercilessly into his skull, behind the left ear. Fire exploded in his head, and he dropped down gasping, waiting for his vision to clear.

Yoda quietly deactivated his weapon and placed it on his belt. "Won, you have," he declared.

Obi Wan blinked away stinging moisture - sweat, tears- from his eyes. "What?"

"Not many are there who can hit master Yoda," the wizened old Jedi rasped. "Found your answer, have you, Obi Wan?"

Wincing, waiting for his ragged breath to find a steadier pattern, and trying to remain totally immobile, he thought it out.

"Yes, master, I have." He could not defeat pain and grief, not outrun them. But he could do his duty. He could allow the suffering to be, and _do what he must._ And even the most harrowing pain in the universe would never stop him from doing that. He knew this, now. He understood it. It filled him, and though it did not lessen the ache of loss even one iota, it freed him from its shackles. He suffered, and he was free. He could live forward.

"In time, lessen the pain will."

He smiled wryly. _Ouch._ "Yes, master."

"Your duty you will do, Obi Wan. And succeed. Fear not."

"Thank you, master. I won't forget."

"No choice about that, do you have," the ancient Jedi snuffled. A very corporal reminder had been issued. He hobbled over to the place where his cane and his cloak had been discarded, and grunted as he leaned down to retrieve them. "Rest now, you should," he added imperiously. "And send your Padawan to bed."

He looked up to the balcony, long green ears twitching, to where Anakin Skywalker stared down at the proceedings with jaw agape.

* * *

><p>Anakin walked slowly beside his master as they made their way back up to the student dormitories, shortening his paces to match Obi Wan's careful, measured stride. He held his tongue as he was personally escorted back to his quarters, relieved that his misdemeanor had earned not so much as a single word of reprimand, much less a stern lecture.<p>

As they approached the door to his tiny room, and it slid open at a wave of the Jedi knight's hand, Anakin cast about for a way to break the silence, to part on a note of mutual understanding.

"Master? Are you all right?"

The oddest smile flickered across Obi Wan's face. A bruise was beginning to darken across his cheekbone, where Yoda had dealt a glancing blow.

"Uh,…come in for a minute," Anakin offered, all gracious hospitality. He was completely out of his depth when it came to his teacher's sense of humor. He suspected it would take years to get the hang of it.

"I would think you would be eager to escape," Obi Wan said, yielding to the boy's pleading expression and sitting very gingerly on the edge of the hard sleep-mattress. "But I can provide the well-deserved lecture if that's what you want."

"No!" Anakin hastily assured him. "I just wanted to say that when I was watching you and Yoda … when I saw how serious…. That I understand what you said earlier. About trust. And I want to thank you for taking me. Because even if the Council did want me, I don't think I could train like the others. I don't think I would want Master Yoda for a teacher."

Again that subtle twist of a smile, just breaking the surface of reserve and then vanishing again, leaving only a little splash of humor in the eyes.

"You don't appreciate Master Yoda's teaching style? Or what you've seen of it?" Obi Wan guessed.

Anakin shook his head vigorously, blue eyes round and serious.

"Then you had better be on your _best_ behavior," his mentor threatened. "No more sneaking and spying, and no more defying my direct order."

"I won't! I promise! And… can I help you somehow? 'Cause you look a little sore."

Obi Wan blinked and then grimaced. He made a small sound that might have been a bitter laugh. "You can help by listening to me. I can't learn from you unless you also try to learn from me."

The boy considered this quietly for a moment.

"Can I show you something I made? You said that it would be all right to play – just a little bit. Because it helps me learn. I can listen better if the ideas for machines and droids have a chance to work themselves out of my head first."

Obi Wan nodded, as though he maybe understood or at least wanted to. "Very well. Let us see this new invention."

Delighted, Anakin turned off the glow lamp and activated a small semispherical chunk of metal and circuitry on his desk, which already resembled a workbench more than a scholar's space. A moving projection of a star map sprang to life on the ceiling above, circling in mesmerizing pattern.

"Like a shipboard nav-database," he explained proudly. "Of course, it's not 3D yet. I haven't figured out how to correlate the inputs for a holoprojection. But it's good to look at. Lie down and you can see it better."

"Qui Gon used to love the map room here in the Temple, " Obi Wan said, surprising Anakin by obeying the injunction to lie down in order to gain a better view of the gently processing stars cast in green light overhead.

Anakin plopped onto the floor beside the sleep mat. "I told him I'm gonna be the first one to see all the star systems. Every single one. Qui Gon said that would be a feat indeed. Do you think that's crazy? Do you think it could happen?"

Obi Wan's voice was soft, almost nothing but a warm sigh. "Perhaps. I don't know."

"Me neither. But the galaxy is so beautiful, I'll never get enough looking at it."

They looked for a long time, watching the dance of stars, the harmony of parts moved by and through the Force, and enjoying it. It was something sweet to be savored in the moment. A brief indulgence in play. Sorrow and longing and the burden of the future seemed to retreat a short distance, to allow a respite and a space for renewal.

Anakin smiled and sat up to look at Obi Wan. His master was sound asleep, exhausted by long nights of grieving and the grueling encounter with Yoda. The Padawan spread a blanket over him and stretched back out nearby on the floor. He continued to gaze contentedly at the star map he had made, and to allow hope and trust to fill some of the gaps left in his heart by loss and violent change of fortune. He had a new life, a new teacher, and a new friend. It would not be easy, but he knew that he could go forward. Not only go forward, but go far.

And with that thought, he too fell into peaceful sleep.

FINIS


End file.
